


Project: Starkers

by high_functioning_timelord



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Adult Peter Parker, M/M, Pole Dancing, Sex Positive, Strip Tease, Stripper Peter Parker, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Written by an actual stripper, semi canon compliant, up until Homecoming anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/high_functioning_timelord/pseuds/high_functioning_timelord
Summary: Peter wants to make a little money of his own, instead of just relying on Aunt May, and the way-too-generous tuition payments from Mr. Stark. Luckily, MJ has a brilliant idea for how to do that.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 23
Kudos: 69





	Project: Starkers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LearnedFoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/gifts).



> This is my very first Starker fic, so please gimme feedback ✨
> 
> I read a stripper!Peter fic and as an Actual Stripper(tm) I just couldn’t let the inaccuracies stand. So all 6.8K words of this just poured out of me at 4am...oops?
> 
> Already working on the next smutty chapter <3
> 
> This exists in some sort of hand-wavy reality post-Homecoming where the Blip didn’t happen and Peter gets to graduate high school and go to college like a normal kid because he fucking deserves it.
> 
>   
> _Note - Ferrous: adj. a substance containing iron_

Peter sat down at his laptop, opened a blank word doc, and stared at it.

_Okay, this is gonna be fine. And not totally crazy. Definitely not crazy. Yeah. This— This is fine._

He typed out a couple lines, and stared at them, repeating them over in his mind. He blinked once, twice, then shook his head, pressing & holding “delete” to erase it all. He took a deep breath, then exhaled, slow and controlled.

_C’mon, Parker. You got this._  
  
He tried again, typing out a couple more lines this time. Then he leaned forward, nose almost touching the screen, and glared at them, as if that could somehow force the words to be better. Shockingly, it didn’t work. Peter groaned, slamming his laptop shut and pushing it away. He picked up his phone.

“MJ… you really think this is a good idea??”

She texted back immediately.

“Definitely. Fight the patriarchy. Redistribute their wealth $$$”

“being a stripper doesn’t make me some kinda Robin Hood hero MJ :-/“

“Robin Hood. That’s a good name. Add it to your list.”

Peter sighed. He opened his laptop again and stared at his pathetic list of stage names. He physically cringed as he forced himself to reciew all of the terrible, cheesy, and totally horrible options he’d come up with so far:

 _~~ Spiderling  
~~_ _~~ Spidey  
~~ _ _~~ Pole Crawler   
~~ _ _~~ Baby Long Legs  
~~ _ _~~ Radioactive  
~~ _ _ Gene Helicase?? _

He’d tried to do something spider-related at first, but quickly realized he didn’t want anyone to start connecting _those_ dots. So then he went down the science pun route for a bit, but everything Peter thought was funny was probably way too esoteric for the average strip club audience, whose brains would only be working at half-capacity with all their blood re-routed to their dicks. Peter figured the only person who might be science-y and dirty-minded enough to get how awesomely clever “Gene Helicase” really was, was Mr. Stark, and he was the absolute, dead-last person Peter wanted to find out about this. Ever.

Although, speaking of Iron Man…

Peter tapped out a few more options, things he thought Mr. Stark might’ve used for his stage name if he were ever a stripper. For all Peter knew, he totally could’ve been, back when he was Peter’s age. He had definitely been hot enough. Maybe he would’ve gone for a cool mononym, like ‘Ferrous’ - or wait! ‘Ferrous Bueller!’ Mr. Stark would totally go for an old movie reference/science pun, or maybe something really cheesy, like ‘Arch Reactor.’ But Mr. Stark didn’t become Iron Man until way later in life, so maybe those puns didn’t make sense? Not that he’d gotten any less hot in the meantime. If anything, Peter thought, he’d just gotten stupidly hotter year after year. Peter had all of his “Sexiest Man Alive” magazine covers to prove it.

Peter giggled. Was he seriously coming up with Iron Man-themed stripper names for Tony Stark? What even was his life??

_ Okay, okay, focus. _

MJ had said it was absolutely essential for stripper names to be a little bit punny, and alliterative if he could swing it. “Peter” was already a slang term old people sometimes used for dicks, so he decided to work off of that, trying on a couple options.

_Peter Parker…  
_ _ Penis Parker (no, fuck off Flash)  
_ _ Peter Park-Her? (that doesn’t even make sense)  
_ _Peter Pecker (oof no)  
_ _ Peter Packer (HA, but also no) _

Then, before he could stop himself, Peter quickly typed out a new name, a name he _never_ allowed himself to think about, let alone write down anywhere someone could find it. He stared at it for a moment, quiet and reverent.

_ Peter Stark _

He sighed, deep and content, allowing himself a few seconds of fantasy. Then he groaned and slammed delete key, tapping it violently until the embarrassing words vanished. Nope. He’s not gonna think about _that_. Especially not right now, while he’s supposed to be thinking about getting naked for strangers for money.

But, maybe… Peter tapped over the same keys again, then added a slight alteration.

_ Peter Starkers _

He stared at it. Huh. Well it wasn’t necessarily _bad_. It even had a bit of sexy word play in it, or at least ‘sexy’ by old British people standards, and it wasn’t too obviously about Mr. Stark.

Okay, it was very obviously about Mr. Stark, but if nobody knew who Peter was, no one would make that connection, right?

Peter really didn’t want to use his first name though. Wasn’t that like, the whole point of a stripper names anyway? Privacy, safety, not getting stalked on the internet and/or murdered? Maybe he could try for another play on words. He pulled up a rhyming dictionary site and typed in “Peter,” plugging in the various options as he went.

_ Beater Starkers (YIKES, no)  
_ _Cheater Starkers (BLEH also no)  
_ _ Tweeter Starkers (eh)  
_ _ Sweeter Starkers ?? _

That last one struck a chord for Peter, and a memory flashed through his mind of Mr. Stark gripping Peter’s shoulder, tight and warm, his voice soft and fond as he called Peter a “sweet kid.” Peter hummed and preened at the memory, like he always did when Mr. Stark praised him, but usually it was like, an internal reaction. No way would he physically do that in front of Mr. Stark. So maybe, with just a tiny alteration…

_Sweet-and-Starkers_

Oh jesus, no, that was… That was cheesy. REALLY cheesy. And Peter normally liked cheesy.

But…  well. If he was being honest, he actually kind of liked it? He liked how much it was so, totally about Mr. Stark, while also not really having any obvious connection to the world-famous billionaire.

Maybe he could get away with it if he just went by “Starkers” for short? Yeah. That way he could still keep the name, but only he would know the whole version, the full weight of its meaning?

Alright. He could work with that. He took breath and typed out “Project: Starkers” at the top of the document.

Now, he just had to research for his audition. MJ had found a local club that did open auditions on Wednesdays, so he had a little over 2 days to prepare. Peter might know to swing between tall buildings and fly over the city, but that didn’t mean he knew anything about moving his hips or looking sexy.

He’d scrolled thru TikTok and saved a whole bunch of videos from guys who claimed to be strippers, which Peter figured was true based on their sweet moves — and the OnlyFans links in their bios didn’t hurt. All these guys were hecken buff though, and it made Peter feel super insecure about his lean frame. Would people really pay to see him take his clothes off? MJ and Ned seemed to think so, but they were his friends, so that was just weird. As far as he knew, no one had ever had a crush on him. Well, people had crushes on Spider-Man, sure. But not plain old Peter Parker.

Although, Peter sometimes thought he saw Mr. Stark looking at him, like when he tried on a new incarnation of his suit at the lab or when he was bending and crawling into the tight spaces even Mr. Stark’s robots couldn’t reach, but he was probably just imagining things. Mr. Stark was, well, Mr. Stark. A literal billionaire who could have literally anyone in the world — or off-world — and he probably had. Like, a lot of times. On the other hand, Peter was a nerdy, barely-not-jail-bait kid from Queens. There’s no way Mr. Stark thought about him as anything more than a naive protégé, a kid he could impart some of his genius to before he left this world in a blaze of glory.

Peter didn’t like thinking about that part. That Mr. Stark was only treating him like some sort of successor because he didn’t think he was gonna be around much longer. Which, considering his lifestyle even before Iron Man came along, was probably a reasonable assumption. But maybe Mr. Stark was just being a good business man, planning ahead, covering his bases? Yeah. That must be it. Peter could live with that.

* * *

Two days later, Peter walked out of the club with a brand new job and instructions to come back for his first shift on Friday. Apparently Peter was a “twink”? He had no idea what that meant, but figured it was a good thing, since the club owner said they’d been looking for more of those for a while.

Peter sent a snap to MJ & Ned, telling them he got it, and that they should totally come by from 5pm-9pm on Friday and throw some money at him. “Not exactly a prime time slot,” MJ had replied, but reassured him that for a new-hire, it was pretty impressive he got a weekend shift at all. Peter wasn’t sure when MJ had gotten so knowledgeable about strip clubs, but when he’d asked her about it a few weeks back, the look on her face shut down any further line of questioning. Maybe you really could learn anything on YouTube.

To celebrate, MJ & Ned dragged Peter to a local sex shop that had tons of stripper costumes and lingerie, which was thankfully in a totally separate area than the sex toys and porn vids. Still, Peter was insanely embarrassed walking in there, but the pink-and-green haired employee was really nice, and she didn’t look at him weird at all when he brought a whole bunch of jockstraps over to the dressing room. She just counted them up, grabbed a tag for the door, then told him to keep his boxers on, and have fun. Peter only ended up buying a couple, with MJ’s help, because holy shit, these things were like $20 a piece! Peter had no idea underwear could be so expensive. He figured he’d get a few more once he started making money.  If he made any money.

Peter ran back to his dorm and dumped out his new finds out on his bed, then started rummaging through his closet and drawers, trying to find something to strip out of for his first official night as a stripper. 

* * *

His first night was awkward as hell. Fun, but awkward. He made small talk with the other guys in the dressing room, and basically just kept repeating, “Don’t be weird, don’t be weird, don’t be weird” to himself over and over and over until the end of his shift. It seemed to have worked, based on the smiles and good vibes he got from them. He didn’t exactly make bank though, since he was still too scared to do private dances, but a couple people came up to sit on the rail to watch him during his sets, and they tipped him well. Nobody tried to grope him, or be creepy, or try to get him to go home with them, like MJ had warned they might, so he called that part of the night a success too.

The next few nights, Peter started getting into his groove. He came in early to practice on the poles, since he couldn’t learn that part anywhere else. He had realised in his audition that the poles actually spun around themselves, which, now that he thought about the physics of it, totally made sense. As he spun around, he found himself rapidly calculating his momentum, feeling out the inertia, his heightened senses revelling in the push and pull of it, the centrifugal force wrapping around his body, magnetic. He could get addicted to this.

Something Peter absolutely did not expect was that his fellow dancers were surprisingly super friendly and helpful, offering to teaching him moves, and cheering him on during his first few stage sets. Especially the older ones, who’d been there a while. Before the club opened, they even showed him some of their tricks, and Peter tried not to replicate them too effortlessly, pulling back his strength and fighting against his instincts to turn on his electrostatic force, even if that meant he fell a couple times. Which he did. Hard.

Also, the dancers weren’t all gay, to Peter’s shock and relief. He thought he’d be the only one there who also liked girls, but some of them even had girlfriends, who occasionally came by the club and sat at the bar. The club wasn’t super hyped about having women in the club, since it was a gay club after all, but seeing as there weren’t a lot male strip clubs geared towards women in the city, they usually let it slide, as long as they weren’t taking the boys away from their regulars.

Peter got bruised up pretty bad those first couple weeks, which made sense, since he was literally wrapping his body around a solid metal object night after night. The guys at the club assured him that that part of it got better after a few weeks, and in Peter’s case, it only took a few days. Thank god for his accelerated healing factor.

Peter found that many of his Spider-Man skills came in handy at his new job. Momentum control, flexibility, super strength, increased stamina, and even his spider-sense. He could listen to the heartbeats of the clients while he was on stage, seeing what moves got the best reaction, and he could even listen in on whispered conversations to figure out who he should pitch a private dance to.

That’s how he ended up giving his first lap dance, actually. A handsome, well-dressed couple in their mid-forties, had been whispering about him on the rail, so Peter went over after his set andasked if they wanted a dance. He brought them over to one of the curtained off lap dance rooms, not the ones with the full doors, since those were the off-limits private rooms. The owner explained to Peter early on that he was only to give lap dances in the semi-private curtained areas. The owner was very protective, and didn’t trust just anyone with his dancers, so he only let the regulars that he knew rent out private rooms. That made Peter feel really good, honestly. Safe, like the whole team there had his back.

Peter chatted with the couple for a bit, explaining the rules while they waited for the current song to end (no touching, hands on your thighs or under your legs, etc.). Once the new song began, the couple kept their hands dutifully on their thighs as Peter flexed, stretched, and gyrated sensually over their bodies.

To Peter’s surprise, they actually ended up having a full-on, weirdly polite conversation with him while he danced. They were both impressed to learn Peter was going into such a complex field like bio physics, and Peter learned that they were both teachers: one in history, the other in gender studies and theatre. At the end of the song, they ended up leaving him an extra $40 tip on top of the lap dance fee, for which Peter thanked them profusely. He tried not to skip all the way back to the dressing room, where his coworkers whooped and snapped at him appreciatively, laughing and yelling, “Get it, Starkers!!!”

So over all, Peter had to admit that things were going surprisingly great, even if it was nothing like he imagined. Nice coworkers, protective bar staff, usually nice customers. And the money. God, the money.

Because of school, he could only work evening shifts and usually weekends, which meant he was always dancing in prime-time for the club. Once he started giving private dances, he was raking in the cash every night. Peter had never held this much money in his hands before, like, ever, and it gave him the glowing sense independence and freedom he so desperately wanted.

He only had to work a couple nights a week to make what he would working part-time flipping burgers or an office job like Ned & MJ were doing. Which was perfect, because that meant he could still head out on his usual Spider-Man patrols, and spend weekend days at Mr. Stark’s lab, AND get all his school work done. Again, the increased stamina was really working in his favor.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when he was leaving Mr. Stark’s lab to head to the club, that things started to unravel.

* * *

Dum-E’s arms were whizzing around the lab, grabbing tools and parts for Mr. Stark, who was fiddling with a new version of Peter’s web shooters at his desk. Peter was over in the training area, trying out his new taser webs on the targets F.R.I.D.A.Y. had set up. 

Suddenly, Peter heard a soft  plop in the direction of where Mr. Stark had been working, so soft even Tony might not have heard it despite being so close by. He told F.R.I.D.A.Y. to pause the training program, then slipped over to investigate.

As soon as he saw what had happened, Peter froze, mortified, then he sprinted over before Mr. Stark could notice. Dum-E had knocked over Peter’s backpack, which normally wouldn’t be an issue, but Peter had a shift tonight, so there was currently a whole assortment of black and red and blue lingerie spilled out all over the floor, right behind Tony’s chair.

As quietly as possible, Peter crawled over behind him, then, after ensuring Mr. Stark hadn’t noticed him, he snatched his backpack off the floor and started shoving the spilled contents back into it, silently thanking whatever universal entity had allowed Mr. Stark to totally not see anything.

Or, so he thought.

When Peter he looked up, his growing sense of relief evaporated. Mr. Stark had swivelled around in his chair, and was now staring directly right at him. Peter flinched in surprise, then he scrambled backwards in horror when he saw what Mr. Stark was currently holding out to him, draped over the end of a pencil.

It was Peter’s brand new red-and-blue thong, with little gold spiders that glittered when it moved. He’d just bought special for his set tonight and it still had the tags on it, so it wasn’t like he’d worn it or anything, but oh my god, why was Mr. Stark holding his  underwear , and why was he looking at him like  that , all amused and hot and- and.. interested? No, that couldn’t be right.

”Drop something, Mr. Parker?” Tony’s voice was casual, but his smile was bordering on lecherous.

To his dismay, Peter found he hadn’t actually died of embarrassment, which meant he now had to actually deal with the situation in front of him. Given the options, death was definitely preferable.

“Uh… yeah.” Peter trembled, voice too high, strained. “Thanks!” He snatched the thong off the pencil, then shoved it into his bag, zipping it up and hiding the evidence.  Death, now, please, he begged the universe.

“You know,” began Tony, thoughtful, “underwear riding up is a really common problem for these suits. You should’ve told me. I could’ve had F.R.I.D.A.Y. order you something special.”

Oh my god. _Oh my_ _god_. This was not where today was supposed to be going. Peter was not supposed to be talking about his UNDERWEAR with Tony Freaking Stark! 

Oh no, and speaking of how tight his suits were, Peter was gonna having to stop thinking about Mr. Stark buying him underwear  _right now_ , before his body started giving him away.

“No!” Peter yelped. “Uh, no. It - it’s not for that.”  Stupid stupid STUPID, he berated himself.  That was your out, Parker.

“Oh?” asked Tony, interest piqued even further. He rolled his chair closer.

_Shit_.  How was he supposed to explain this?

Luckily, before Peter could continue making an absolute idiot of himself, Mr. Stark jumped in again.

“Ahh,” Tony chuckled, understanding spreading across his face. “Okay, my mistake. Well, whoever they are, they’re very lucky.”

“Oh,” Peter said blankly, then, catching his meaning, “ Ohhh. Um, yeah. Thanks. I guess?” 

Fuck! This was somehow even worse. Now Mr. Stark thought he was dating someone. Which was… well, it’s not like he even remotely had a chance with Mr. Stark anyway, but he  definitely didn’t have a chance now if he thought he was fooling around with someone else. Especially to the point of buying that someone Spider-Man themed underwear. Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

Tony had turned half-way back to his desk, clearly wanting to get back to work, but he was still caught up with smiling at Peter’s scandalized expression.

“Well, I don’t wanna keep you any longer,” Tony said, nodding towards the door. “Go have fun tonight, kid.” He winked.

Peter nodded, still in a daze, then scrambled up and scurried out of the lab, pressing the elevator button so hard he heard its plastic cover crack.

Once the elevator arrived and the doors closed behind him, Peter slid down the wall, head in his hands, replaying the scene over and over and over in his head.

”Have fun tonight, kid.”

_God fucking damn it._

* * *

Peter dropped his bag in the club dressing room, still shaken up by the events in the lab. He took out his new thong, running the soft, stretchy material through his hands for a moment as he remembered Mr. Stark’s eyes on him, amused by Peter’s wide-eyed shock, eyes sparkling with just a hint of debauchery.

Peter shook his head. He can’t think about that right now. He’s gotta focus, make tonight good for his customers, and fun for himself. The other dancers were already flowing in and out of the dressing room, gossiping about their customers, sipping their drinks, and changing into sparkly outfits and heels that Peter thought couldn’t possibly be comfortable. He was glad that the clients didn’t seem to mind the stretch-cotton-and-converse look he had going on.

None of the other dancers seemed to notice that Peter was a bit quieter than usual when he came in, but soon, Peter loosened up and started joining in and laughing with everyone, just like usual.

Yeah. It was gonna be okay.

Peter went back into the club and checked in with the DJ, who put him into rotation right after his friend King, who had a penchant for blindfolding himself while dancing. It was a real crowd pleaser, so Peter knew he’d need to bring his A-game for his stage sets if he wanted any tips. He ducked back into dressing room, took off his street clothes, and slipped into his new thong. As the soft fabric slid over his hips and between his thighs, Peter wished for one self-indulgent moment that Mr. Stark had actually touched it, felt the fabric with his rough, calloused hands, so it’d be like he was actually touching him now.

C’mon, focus, Parker.

* * *

By the middle of his shift, Peter had forgotten the incident at the lab. He’d danced a couple stage sets, did a handful of private dances, and was currently being bought his second (non-alcoholic) drink by a smartly dressed business man in his mid-thirties.  
  
“Alright, folks! It’s your last chance to see King on-stage,” the DJ crooned into the mic. “And remember, he is working for your tips and your tips alone, so get up on that rail and show him your appreciation. Starkers, standby.”

Peter jolted at the sound of his stage name.  Shit.  He’d been so caught up fake-flirting with this customer that he hadn’t even realized King was on stage. He was usually already back in the dressing room by now, getting changed into a new outfit. Peter quickly apologized to the man, assuring him he could catch him on stage in just a moment, then ran downstairs.

He rummaged quickly thru his bag, but he couldn’t find the outfit he was looking for: the strappy black underwear he thought the man upstairs might be into. Whatever, the audience could deal with a repeat. Besides, most of the people from his first set had already left. He grabbed his new thong, then quickly snapped on his fake button-down shirt and tear-away slacks, and headed back out just as his name was being called.

”Alright, we have a treat for you tonight, folks,” said the DJ, “one of our newest gems, with a booty you can bounce a quarter off of, please welcome to the stage, Staaaaarkers!”

There was a small scattering of applause, accompanied by some much louder cat calls and whistles as Peter took the stage. He wiping down the pole as seductively as he could, then applied some liquid chalk to his hands, just for show, since his electrostatic grip allowed him to cling to the pole with just a touch.

Peter really loved this stage. Not that he had anything to compare it to, but he liked the set up. The pole was on the left in front of the stage entrance, and on the right side, there was a pull-up bar bolted to the wall, where the more muscular guys liked to show off their strength. The “rail” of the stage resembled a narrow, L-shaped bench that surrounded the front and right side of the stage, with about 10 chairs spaced out so customers could sit and watch up close. People usually placed their drinks and dollars on the rail, but the surface was wide enough that Peter could hop up on there and give the client on the rail a real, up-close-and-personal show, and he usually got great tips for it.

Peter exhaled as his music began, slow and pulsing with a syncopated beat. He walked slowly, in that seductive, step-drag-step-drag way King had taught him. He gripped the pole tightly with both hands, then kicked his legs effortlessly up and over his head, fully inverting on the pole in an instant. He spread his legs into a wide V, and then slowly sank into a full split as he spun, giving the audience a full 360 degree view. The move earned him a couple whistles as several dollars flew up onto the stage below, and Peter smiled when heard the accelerating heartbeat one of the men on the rail. More dollars floated down on him as he lowered himself to the stage, and Peter chuckled softly. He couldn’t believe he ever thought he couldn’t do this. He hadn’t even taken his clothes off yet.

Peter ran his hands over his body for a moment, flexing his hips to the beat, then he leaped back onto the pole, wrapping his legs around it as he spun, twisting and turning gracefully until he was fully reclined, his ankles crossed, and the pole settled tightly between his thighs. He let go with his arms, then leaned back so he could flash an upside down smirk at the audience whizzing by his vision. He ran his hands over his chest, teasing for just a moment, before ripping open the snaps on his shirt with a flourish, revealing his lean muscles, bound by his smooth, unblemished skin. The wolf whistles and cat calls came pouring in as his shirt flew off, landing somewhere off stage. Peter heard the heart rate on the rail hitch, and a few more dollars littered the floor below him.

Peter rocked back up and slid down the pole, pressing his body against it suggestively, then spread himself out on the floor, arching his back. He bicycled his legs a few times, grabbing some dollars off the floor and raining them down over his body, before he rolled himself over into a push up position. This was one of his favourite moves. He placed one hand behind his back, shifting his weight onto his other elbow, then did a series of slow, full body rolls towards the floor, as if he was fucking into the air below him, his chest and hips just barely grazing the ground.

More dollars scattered behind him as he crawled towards the back of the stage, swaying his hips seductively with every shift of his knees, then he lifted himself up, bracing against the wall, shaking his ass playfully at his audience. Peter peaked coyly over his shoulder, running his hands down his sides, gripping his ass firmly through the fabric of his slacks, and gave it a firm smack. Then he slid his hands around to the front ,and dramatically tore off his snap-away pants, revealing his firm ass framed by red-and-blue straps. The noise from behind him was deafening, as his senses somehow became even more heightened whenever he performed, but he revelled in it, soaking up the praise.

Peter then waltzed back over to the pole, clearly pleased with himself, then gripped it tightly, inverting again with a wide V, but this time he brought his legs together, essentially standing inverted in the air, then he began doing undulating in slow motion, his body rolling against the pole. This move would have been incredibly difficult for anyone who wasn’t Peter, but his strength made it look absolutely effortless. Peter’s eyes dropped to the rail as he twirled his way back down. The man with the pounding heart rate, who Peter couldn’t quite see through the glare of the lights, had placed a couple dollars - no wait,  holy shit , those were twenties! - on the rail, signalling that he’d like some attention. Peter smiled cheekily in his direction, all to happy to oblige.

He sauntered over to the rail, hopping up onto it and pressing down into a cat-like stretch, his ass pushed suggestively in the air, then he turned his to give his mystery tipper a sultry glance and-

HOLY. FUCKING. FUCK.

Mr. Stark was sitting calmly, eyes locked onto Peter’s with an unreadable expression, his hands folded carefully in his lap, clenching his open wallet.

Peter suddenly wished his super strength also applied to his will-power, because it took every single ounce he had to not run, screaming, back into the dressing room, and never come out ever again.

“May I?” Tony asked, eyes flicking briefly to Peter’s thong as he held up a one of the twenties.

Peter nodded reflexively, too stunned to speak, and he had to bite back a groan when Mr. Stark’s fingers brushed against his hip as he slipped the bill under his waistband.

Tony raised his eyebrows, then gestured as if to say, “Don’t stop on my account.”

Peter’s mind was a blur as he gyrated and spun his way through the rest of his set, trying not to think about the fact that his mentor was sitting there, watching him,  _paying_ him to do this.

“Alright, let’s give it up for Starkers!” the DJ’s voice suddenly shouted, breaking Peter out of his haze. “He is now available for private lap dances, if you want a more up-close-and-personal look at our resident acrobat. Coming up next to the stage, we have the beefcake himself, Mr. Jo-hn Kiloooo!”

Peter crawled around on the stage, gathering up his clothes and dollars into a haphazard bundle, then he bolted off, straight through the bar, and into the dressing room, letting the door slam behind him.

* * *

After he’d taken several deep breaths, changed, and counted out his dollars, Peter felt slightly more prepared to go back upstairs and face what was waiting for him. Thankfully, there rest of the dancers were upstairs, chatting up customers or on smoke breaks, so he didn’t have to deal with any uncomfortable questions he’d rather not answer. Besides, its not like Mr. Stark was gonna yell at him in front of the whole club or anything. Peter was sure that the last thing he wanted was to make a scene that would lead to headlines like: “Billionaire Tony Stark Accosts Teen Stripper.”

Peter headed back up the stairs to the club, then briefly inspected his reflection in the mirror on the back of the dressing room door, tucking back that one curl that just won’t stay. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, then opened the door.

Mr. Stark had moved away from the rail, thankfully, and Peter spotted him sitting in a dark corner booth, sipping a dark liquor.

_Yeah, I’m sure you need that right about now_ ,  Peter thought bitterly.

Now normally, when Peter would sit down with customers, he’d perch himself on their laps, or squeeze in next to them in their booths, crowding into their personal space to give them a little bit of taste of what a private dance with him could be like. But now, Peter found himself awkwardly sliding into the seat across from Mr. Stark, his eyes lowered, fully resigned and ready to sit through his mentor’s lecture.

“So,  _ Starkers _ .” Tony set down his drink. “I bet you’re wondering how I found you.”

Peter nodded. Now that he thought about it, it had seemed kinda weird that he knew exactly where he was.

“Well, I started putting the pieces together after you left in such a hurry,” Tony continued. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t seem like the type of guy to buy underwear for somebody, especially not underwear the same color as your supersuit. I should know; that’s my move.”

Peter shook his head. “But, how did you know where- I mean, it’s not like-“

“I happen to be fairly familiar with the clubs in the area,” Tony explained. “I assumed this was a pretty recent development for you, so I looked into which clubs were hiring, then I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. run some social media scans of all the club promo photos, matching against images of you in the lab.”

For some reason, the fact that F.R.I.D.A.Y. knew about all this made Peter blush.

“But after that came up with a big fat nothing, I remembered you’d brought your suit to the lab, so I just activated the tracker, and voila: here were are.”

Tony watched Peter’s face for a moment, then lowered his voice. “Listen, kid. If it’s just about money, I can see about getting on for an actual Stark internship-”

“No!” Peter blurted out, a little too loudly. Security looked over, but he gave them a sheepish thumbs up. He took a deep breath. “No, Mr. Stark. I… I like this. It’s really fun, actually. And it helps me keep up with my physical training without putting myself in danger every night, like I am on solo patrols.”

“That does have a certain appeal,” Tony admitted. “But look, okay, don’t get me wrong, I love strippers, alright? Love ‘em, and I totally support anyone who wants to take up these noble arts.” Tony winced. “Okay, pretend I said that last part with about 50% less sarcasm.”

Tony reached out across the table, tentatively placing a hand over Peter’s. Peter gasped at the touch, then slowly turned his hand over, shuddering at the way Mr. Stark rubbed his thumb over the inside of his wrist.

“I just wanted make sure you weren’t doing this because you thought you don’t have another way to make cash. Because you definitely, definitely do. You’re a smart kid, Pet-  _ Starkers _ . We’re gonna talk about that name, by the way. Don’t think you’re off the hook about that. Anyway, you’re smart, kid. Brilliant, some might say.”

Peter felt a flush blooming on his chest and was suddenly very glad to be wearing his shirt. “So… you’re not mad?”

“What? Mad?” Tony spluttered. “No! No, of course I’m not mad at you, kid. I’m confused, sure, and a little hurt that you felt like you couldn’t tell me about all this. But if I’m being completely honest, you’re also kinda…” Tony shrugged, eyes fixed on their hands, voice going soft. “You’re kinda made for this. I’ve seen a lot of strippers over the years, and they can all work their magic up and down a pole, and grind men’s bones to make their bread, but you… You’ve got a real gift here, Peter.  Starkers . Damn, that’s gonna take some getting used to.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

“Sorry, is that weird? I feel like that’s weird,” Tony winced, searching Peter’s face for any sign that he hadn’t just crossed some kind of line. “Let’s just say, you’re talented, in a lot of ways, and you have all the options in the world. Never forget that.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” whispered Peter, still trying to process all of the unexpected praise being thrown his way. This was  not how he thought this was gonna go. Like, at all. Although he had to admit, he wasn’t exactly disappointed by this turn of events.

“But, um,” Peter shuffled his feet under the table, working up his courage. “You, uh. You haven’t actually seen me ‘grinding bones,’ Mr. Stark, so I’m not really sure you’re qualified to compliment me on that.” Then, catching the hungry look in Mr. Stark’s eyes, Peter added, “Yet.”

Tony drew a sharp breath.

“What-“ Tony cleared his throat. “What are you getting at, Pete?”

“It’s  Starkers , sir,” Peter replied, his tone defiant, “And I think you know exactly what I’m getting at.”

Tony studied him for a moment, eyes tracing his features, searching for something. For what, Peter had no idea, but he hoped that he was finding what he was looking for.

Suddenly, Tony nodded, then leaned back against the booth, arms folded across his chest.

“Alright,  _ Starkers _ . How much?”

Peter faltered. He hadn’t actually expected that to work.

“F-for you? Uh, well-“

“No, no, not the friends-and-family discount-” Tony stopped, cringing. Clearly, that was  not what he wanted to say just then. “Listen kid, I have a lot of money, and I do mean a  lot of money, which also means I can spend it however I want. Now, you’ve put an offer on the table, and I’m considering it. So tell me,  Starkers , how much?”

“It’s uh…” Peter cleared his throat, sitting up a little taller. “It’s $40 for one song, 3 for $100.”

“And for a private room?” Tony raised an eyebrow.

Peter gulped. Like, literally gulped. There was no way Mr. Stark didn’t see that. Real smooth, Parker. “We uh… don’t usually do those here. They only let the regulars in those.”

“Well, I’ve found that when you’re me, people tend to make exceptions.” Tony shrugged.

“Okay… well,” Peter floundered, uncertain, “I’d have to ask someone. Since I don’t have any regulars yet, I don’t really know-”

“How’s $1000?” Tony offered cooly, quirking a brow.

“Wait- WHAT?” Peter blurted out, nearly falling out of the booth. He quickly regained his balanced, in no small part due to his powers, then he lowered his voice. “Mr. Stark, you can’t just-”

“Oh I think I can ‘just,’” Tony smirked. He clearly got the reaction he was going for. “Look kid, it’s 3 songs for $100, right? The standard strip club edit is about 2.5 minutes per song, so 30 minutes with you at that rate would be $400. But then, I also get a private room, which I assume is decent looking. I’m also taking you away from other clients, and I  also know the club’s gonna charge you a ridiculous room fee. So, let’s double that: $800. And then, because knowing you, you’re probably gonna need to devote at least one therapy session to processing all this, so you get an extra $200.”

Peter just stared at him. Of course Tony Stark - genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist - would be an expert at strip club math.

“W-what? Why would I need-“ Peter stuttered. “Sir, you don’t have to, I mean- I could-”

“Let me teach you a bit about business, kid. When someone offers to pay you an outrageous sum of money for your time - or in your case, a totally reasonable and perfectly justified sum - you just take it.”

Peter looked down at his hands, uncertain. If they did this - if  he did this - what would happen out there, in the real world? Would he never Mr. Stark look at him the same way again, eyes full of pride and adoration, marvelling at his observations and insights like he was the most brilliant thing he’d ever seen? Or would Mr. Stark just pretend it never happened, like Peter was just another nameless stripper he’d bought a lap dance from once, and continue on, business as usual? Peter didn’t know which one was worse.

“Hey,” Tony’s voice, quiet and soothing, broke through his thoughts.

Tony scooted around the curve of the booth so he could place a warm hand on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“I only wanna do this if you say it’s okay. You’re the boss here. If you don’t want to, we can just forget about it, pretend it never happened. We’ll go back to the lab next weekend, just like always.” He glanced down Peter’s frame, his tongue darting out reflexively. “But I’m here, now, and my  god , if you’ll let me, Peter, I wanna see what you can do. So, what’dya say, kid? Can we do that?”

Peter swallowed, then took a deep breath, exhaling long and loud. He resolutely shoved down any thoughts about the implications of what was about to happen, what this all meant outside of these walls, and anything else beyond this exact moment, where Tony Stark was sitting there asking, begging, for him.

“ _Yes.”_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make my heart happy <3
> 
> The next smutty chapter will be up ASAP!
> 
> In the meantime, go check out LearnedFoot’s exceptional Starker fics in my bookmarks. I aspire to write like them every day ✨
> 
>  **Fun Facts**  
>  \- Tom Holland has confirmed in interviews that he wore a thong under his Spider-Man suit in the films to eliminate the VPL (visible panty line). So Spidey-Thong is canon ❤️💙


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